


Peter Pan

by amorluzymelodia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Big Brother Dean, Cutting, Depression, Emotional Abuse, Physical Abuse, Protective Dean, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Running away from home, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Violence, mention of suicide, non-consenual incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-07-29 15:26:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16267016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorluzymelodia/pseuds/amorluzymelodia
Summary: Request: Can I have a request where you meet Dean at Sonny’s? The reader is female and she had literally nowhere else go to because no one wanted you due to bad behavior. So, Sonny takes you in. You and Dean are both 15. You end up getting really close and after a while you confess to him that you ran away from an abusive home, and you struggle with self-harm and depression.A/N: I made Dean 17 in this fic and the reader 15. Nothing romantic or sexual takes place between the two.Tags are for entire fic, and may not appear in every chapter. I will do my best to tag specific warnings at the beginning of each chapter, but if you notice something I missed, please let me know.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SELF-HARM, SPECIFICALLY CUTTING. If this triggers you, please skip the last section of this chapter. Always Keep Fighting loves.

The rusty metal bedframe creaked and groaned as the deputy practically pushed you down, and you glared at him as he un-cuffed you. This wasn’t your first stint in a dank jail cell, but this time you didn’t think you’d be out in a few hours. Not only had you been caught breaking and entering, but when the officer had put his hand on your arm to put you in the police car you’d retaliated by swinging around and hitting him in the eye with your elbow, and took off running. However, you were tired and hungry so he’d caught up with you, handcuffed you, and thrown you in a cell.

“Don’t I get a phone call?” you’d demanded but he just held up your phone.

“Sure,” he was scrolling through your contacts. “Let’s call your old man. See how he feels about his kid sucker-punching a police officer.”

“Please, you’re a glorified park ranger.” That comment only got you a glare and he left you alone.

He didn’t come back for a few hours. The old mattress was hurting your back and you had to pee but you weren’t about to do it when that deputy could walk in at any second. The whole jail smelled like piss, sweat and burnt coffee and you just sat there, thinking what your dad would do when he found out—if he was even sober enough to answer the phone. That might actually be the best possible situation. You’d gotten away from social services before, and you could do it again.

 Finally, you were actually about to drift off, when you heard the deputy come back and bang on the bars. You glared up at him but he just grinned at you.

“Got ahold of your dad.” He said. “Told me you could rot in a cell for all he cared.”

You sighed and closed your eyes again. “Sounds like him.”

The deputy surprised you by unlocking the cell and holding out the handcuffs again.

“C’mon.” he said and you just stared at him in confusion. “You’re a minor. Can’t leave you locked up in here all night, no matter what dear old dad says.”

You sat up hesitantly but didn’t stand. “What’re you gonna do with me, then?” you asked and the deputy got impatient and stepped towards you and you flinched, ready to fight again, but he seemed to notice you were scared and slowed his approach.

“Takin’ you to Sonny’s.” he said, latching the handcuffs around your wrists again. “He usually only takes boys, but he said he’s got some beds open.”

Though that hardly answered your question, you were too tired—and, if you were being honest with yourself, terrified—to argue or run right now, so you just followed the deputy back out to his car and tried to keep track of where you were going, even though it was dark outside. When you pulled up to an ominous-looking farmhouse your stomach tensed. A tall man with a biker mustache and long hair was standing on the porch when you walked up, his arms crossed but a kind smile on his face.

“Hey, Sonny.” The deputy said, smiling at the man. “Thanks for doin’ this. I know you don’t usually take in girls.”

Sonny just brushed the deputy’s comment away and frowned down at the cuffs. “Cuffs really necessary, Scott?”

Deputy Scott looked a bit sheepish as he uncuffed you and muttered something about a “sucker-punch” which wasn’t true. Though your instinct was to shoot back a smart-ass comment, you were in a situation with two older, unfamiliar men and the last thing you wanted to do right now was piss them off—you knew all too well what could happen when men got angry.

Deputy Scott explained to Sonny what your dad had said and gave him a sheet with your information on it, and your backpack, which he’d taken from you when he’s arrested you.  Before he left he shot you a look half between pity and disgust and stalked back to his squad car. You watched him go and jumped when a hand landed on your shoulder.

“Whoa! Sorry, kiddo.” Sonny said, handing you your backpack. “Scott said your dad couldn’t come get you?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, slinging your backpack over one shoulder and crossing your arms over your chest. “More like didn’t want to, which is pretty par for the course.”

Sonny nodded in understanding and held out a hand towards the open door, but thankfully didn’t touch you. You walked in and noticed that the inside of the house was well-kept, clean and actually quite homey. There were pictures on the walls of Sonny, and a lot of younger boys, none of whom looked like Sonny, and far too many to all be related to him. There was a wall with medals and trophies and newspaper clippings with various names on them.

“Y/N right?” Sonny called and you turned around, seeing him enter the room behind you and lean against the wall, his hands in his jean pockets. You nodded. “What’d Scott pick you up for, Y/N?”

“Didn’t he tell you?” you spat, immediately feeling bad. This man had done nothing to you, you shouldn’t be cruel to him. However, your previous experience with men his age hadn’t gone well, and old habits die hard.

Sonny shrugged, nonplussed by your tone. “Figured I’d hear your side of the story.”

That threw you off. No one ever wanted to hear your side of the story. “Caught me sneaking in to the library on Main Street. Didn’t like it when I tried to run.”

“Why were you sneaking in to the library?” Sonny asked and you just shrugged, wandering around the room and looking at the various pictures on the wall.

“Who are all these kids?” you asked hesitantly but Sonny didn’t skip a beat in answering you, walking to stand next to you.

“My kids.” He said and you frowned at him so he clarified. “Kids that stay here ‘cause they’ve got nowhere else do go.”

“Like me.” You sighed, more to yourself than to him. “They’re all boys.” You noted and Sonny nodded.

“This is a kind of half-way house for boys who need help and don’t have a place to get it. Scott called me and explained your situation, and we’ve got a few beds in the spare room separate from the boys, figured a few nights couldn’t hurt.”

You faced him and crossed your arms again, trying to look brave. “Why should I trust you? How do I know you aren’t gonna hurt me?”

Sonny cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes slightly. “Like your old man?”

His words made your heart stop but you quickly slipped on your best poker face. “My dad doesn’t hurt me, he’s probably just pissed I got caught doing something stupid.”

“Mmhmm,” Sonny hummed, pointing at your arm. “What happened there?”

You pulled down your shirt sleeve over the bandage on your left arm, embarrassed.

“Fell. Scraped it on the concrete.” It was a lame excuse and Sonny obviously didn’t believe you but didn’t press the issue.

Before you could ask any more questions, there was a knock and you looked to see a boy—closer to a man really—standing in the doorway. He had sandy blonde hair, bright green eyes and a strong jaw-line and was wearing plain grey pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt.

“Eric had another nightmare,” he said, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “He’s askin’ for ya.”

Sonny nodded. “I’ll be right up. Dean, could you show Y/N to the room across from Sheila’s?”

Dean nodded and grinned sleepily at you. “Hey, Y/N. I’m Dean.” He said, holding out his hand, which you ignored. He didn’t seem phased by that and just motioned for you to follow him.

Sonny bid you goodnight and you followed Dean up the stairs, which were surprisingly sturdy for their age, and down a long hallway.

“So what’re you in for?” Dean asked bluntly and you just glared at him as he led you down the hallway, stopping to check a dark room full of beds. As you peeked in you noticed one boy illuminated by what looked like a flashlight. Dean sighed.

“Put the book away, Oscar.” He said quietly and you heard the sound of blankets shuffling and the flashlight clicking off, before Dean shut the door again. “C’mon, your room is down here.”

He led you to another room that only had two twin beds in it, which looked clean, if a bit unused.

“Breakfast is at seven.” Dean said, opening the small closet in the room and pulling out a towel along with what looked like dollar-store shampoo and soap. He set the bundle on one of the beds and pointed to a door in the corner. “This room has an attached bathroom so feel free to shower if you want. If you’re nervous—“

“I’m not.” You snapped, which probably only convinced him that you were. “I just want to go home.”

“Look Y/N if Scott sent you here, that means one of two things. Either you royally pissed off social services and they don’t want to deal, or they called your parents and _they_ didn’t want to deal with you—“

“Who the hell do you think you are?” you demanded but Dean just shrugged, leaning against the doorframe casually.

“Just been around the block a few times, and I’ve been here long enough to know the look of a lost boy when I see one. Though in this case I guess you’re Wendy.”

You frowned at him. “What?”

“Wendy. Wendy Darling. Like Peter Pan?” he rolled his eyes. “C’mon you’re like thirteen and don’t know Peter Pan?”

“I’m fifteen.” You snapped and Dean just nodded. You scratched at your arm absently. “Sonny seems cool.” It came out small and timid, and you were sure Dean knew how scared you were, and the information you were trying to glean.

"He’s good people.” Dean said, and it was difficult to doubt the honesty in his voice. “Takes care of us like no one else has.” He paused and spoke quieter a moment later. “You don’t need to be scared of Sonny, Y/N.”

“I’m not scared!” you didn’t mean to yell, and for a moment you flinched, expecting a blow for your impudence. However, Dean didn’t even seem shocked by your outburst.

“Sleep in if you want. I’ll save ya some breakfast.” He said kindly and shut the door quietly behind him.

Despite Dean and Sonny’s assurances that no one would hurt you, you took a chair from the corner of the room and wedged it against the door, just in case. Then you went to the small bathroom, which was surprisingly updated, and locked the door behind you. The urge to shower was greater than your exhaustion so you stripped down and turned on the water as hot as it would go. It had been a long time since you’d had a decent shower—and one where you weren’t jumping at every single sound and rushing to get clean before the water turned cold…or someone interrupted you. Before you got in the shower you pulled out your meager toiletry bag and placed it on the toilet next to the shower. Once you stepped under the spray and washed the grime from your body and at least managed to get some of the tangles out of your hair, you reached past the curtain and grabbed a small silver razor from your toiletry bag. The bandage you’d hastily wrapped around your left arm was soaked through and you tossed it in the trashcan next to the toilet, before sitting on the floor of the shower and curling in a ball. The cuts from a few days ago hadn’t completely healed yet, and they still itched like crazy, and stung when you washed them. But after everything that had happened today you just couldn’t resist adding a few more.

To be honest, you weren’t even sure why you did it. At this point it had become a habit, and more often than not it was the only way you could actually _feel_ something at the end of the day. So much of your energy was devoted to staying alive, and dealing with your dad’s drunken rages that you didn’t often let your emotions show. However, the times when they would bubble up to the surface, and your eyes would tear up, or your hands would shake with fear or anxiety, you found that slicing open your wrists was a better release than sneaking some of your Dad’s whiskey and hoping to god he’d be too drunk to realize. At least if he found out you’d cut yourself, he wouldn’t punish you…right? It didn’t matter either way, if he didn’t punish you, you would just punish yourself.

Though you knew that—for tonight at least—you had some semblance of safety, you couldn’t fight the feelings of fear and anger and shame trying to rip their way up your throat, and when you felt the tears threaten to fall, you just pressed the razor to your skin and sliced, watching the blood drip into the water and down the drain. The pain grounded you, even if only for a moment, and oddly enough allowed you to breathe easier. That is, until it wore off and you needed to add another cut. And another, and another. By the time the water was cold you’d added a dozen or so more cuts—none too deep, you didn’t really want to stitch yourself up again. You took what was left of the soap Dean had given you and made sure they were clean, the extra sting of washing them sending a shot of adrenaline through your body. Then you pressed a paper towel to your arm until the bleeding stopped and wrapped a clean bandage around them, before sliding into the first comfortable bed you’d slept in in ages, and tried not to think about whatever hell was waiting for you tomorrow.

Or…not? Dean seemed normal enough, and Sonny didn’t seem overly aggressive or abusive, so maybe a few days here wouldn’t hurt? The thought terrified you more than whatever your dad would do when or if he picked you up, but you clung to the hope that this house would at least be somewhat of a haven for even a few days, and you drifted off into a fitful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: self-harm, some asshole kid gets handsy but nothing goes further than a hand on the thigh
> 
> A/N: thank you for your patience!

There was a moment when you woke up that you forgot where you were, and your entire body tensed up as you tried to remember the events from the night before. When you remembered getting arrested, Sonny and Dean you let yourself relax a bit, and tried to stop your hammering heart. As you rolled over, the bandage on your arm slipped down over your cuts from the night before and you hissed, pulling it off and wadding it up in your fist. Apparently, you hadn’t wrapped it tight enough the night before, or tossed and turned so much that it had come loose and slipped off in the middle of the night. As you tossed the covers off, you noticed a few red streaks on the sheets.

“Shit,” you cursed, stripping the sheets off the bed and tossing them in the corner before pulling on your jeans and shoes. When you’d left the motel in search of the library last night, you’d had the wherewithal to stuff a few shirts into your backpack, and while they were crumpled at least they were clean. Your jeans were in desperate need of a wash, but they’d have to do for now. Before you went downstairs you re-wrapped your arm, making sure it was hidden by your sleeves. Sonny had mentioned the bandage last night, and while you knew he probably didn’t buy your “tripped and fell” story, you hoped you wouldn’t be here long enough for him to actually find out anything. At least the bruises littering your ribs and the inside of your thighs were covered, those would be hard to explain away.

Downstairs, there were nearly a dozen boys milling about, some making or eating breakfast, some cleaning up the dirty dishes or other various chores. They were all around your age, with a handful a few years younger or older. When you entered the kitchen, a few of them shot you wary glares but a couple of the younger ones smiled shyly at you. You stood there awkwardly for a moment before you heard your name and turned to see Dean piling scrambled eggs on a plate and beckoning you over. He handed you the plate and added some fruit and sausage links.

“Saved you some,” he said and pointed to the table.

It had been a long time since you’d had a home-cooked meal, and never one this good. Usually your dad picked up fast food or ordered pizza and the only time the two of you did anything that even remotely resembled cooking was heating up burritos in a gas station microwave. You had to refrain from moaning as you ate.

“How’d you sleep?” Dean asked as he loaded the dishwasher.

“Fine. How many kids live here?”

“Depends on the month really.” He explained. “Sometimes we have almost twenty-five, but right now it’s closer to fifteen.”

“What do you do here anyway? Can’t imagine it’s all tie-dying shirts and making friendship bracelets.”

Dean grinned and placed a glass of water in front of you. “We help Sonny. Work the farm, take care of the house, stuff like that.”

“And that’s supposed to turn you away from a life of sin?” you joked around a mouthful of sausage.

Dean laughed. “I guess.” he accepted your empty plate and placed it in the dishwasher before turning it on. “I was actually gonna go feed the horses and chickens if you want to join me.”

Though you still weren’t sure what to make of Dean, he seemed mostly harmless and friendly, and this was a better option than being sent back to your father, so you nodded and followed him out to the stables. There were six or seven horses in their stalls, and an older man near the end brushing a beautiful black horse. When he saw you and Dean enter the stable, he called down to you.

“Echo’s pregnant.” He said, motioning to the horse he was brushing. “Sonny got her some vitamins or something that’s supposed to help. Just throw ‘em in with her food and she should be good.”

Dean nodded and picked up the bucket, hitching it over his arm. “Jack this is Y/N—she’s staying here for a few days.”

The older man—Jack—just grunted at you and nodded. You took a half-step backwards, uncomfortable.

“Get to work, kid.” Jack grumbled but Dean didn’t seem affected by his foul mood and motioned for you to follow him to the opposite end of the stables and started pouring feed into each horse’s trough.

“Jack really isn’t that bad,” Dean said quietly, noticing you eyeing the man hesitantly. “Just kind of a crotchety guy.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Personally, I think he’s spent too much time with the horses…does something to a person.”

You grinned and rolled your eyes at his attempt at a joke and followed him around the stable, not sure what to do. Dean let you feed a few of the horses and then you followed him out to the chicken coup where he handed you a bucket before crouching down and reaching into the coup.

“Best part of this place is fresh eggs,” Dean said, taking a few out of the coup and placing them gently in the basket you held.

The rest of the morning was spent helping Dean around the farm, and you quickly realized he was the unspoken second-in-command around the farm, even if he couldn’t be older than seventeen. The other boys listened to him for the most part, and he seemed to know the ups and downs of the farm like the back of his hand. While you worked Dean prattled on, not forcing you to talk, which you appreciated. He talked about the wrestling match he’d won a few weeks ago, the steak he and Sonny were going to grill for dinner tonight, the raccoon he swore was living in the attic but mysteriously disappeared anytime they tried to catch it and about a million other things. He didn’t give any personal details about himself, but to be fair, neither did you. The two of you headed back to the house for lunch, and you never thought a ham and cheese sandwich could taste so good. While you ate, Dean went to make sure a few of the younger boys were getting their chores done, leaving you in the kitchen. An older boy with a nose that looked like it had been broken a few times too many sat down next to you and stared at you. After a few moments of trying to ignore him you made eye contact and raised your eyebrows.

“What?”

“You’re a girl.” He said. You snorted.

“A+ Einstein.” You spat back sarcastically, and he glowered at you.

“Ain’t no girls supposed to be here.” He said through a mouthful of sandwich and you grimaced as chunks of food flew at you. “You Sonny’s kid or something?”

You shook your head in answer and the he swallowed his food, wiped his hands on his jeans and held one out to you.

“I’m Hector.” When you didn’t accept his handshake he clenched his jaw and scooted towards you, the proximity made you uncomfortable and you wanted nothing more than to leave but you were sitting against the wall and he had you trapped. “You’re awful pretty. Most girls that come through here are old broads or social workers. How long you here for?” he put his hand on your thigh and slid it slowly upwards and you felt like you were going to vomit, but instead you lifted your knee up and because he was leaning forward, you managed to catch him in the chin and he jolted back, yelling.

“You bitch!” he cried through a mouthful of blood. He must’ve bitten his tongue when you smashed into his chin, but you didn’t care, you just shoved back from the table and booked it outside, not caring where you went, just wanting to get rid of him. Someone called your name as you ran but you didn’t care, you just ran past the stables to an old barn near the back of the property. It was dark and quiet inside, filled with old farm machinery and a few classic cars. You picked one and wrenched the drivers’ side door open and slid inside, wrapping your arms around your knees tightly and burying your head in your arms, trying not to cry.

How stupid could you have been to think you’d be safe here? Even if it had only been a little glint of hope that this was a place where no one would hurt you, it was still hope and you knew how stupid that was. You couldn’t let your guard down, not ever. If it wasn’t your dad, or Hector it was some guy at a bar or truck stop. If you let yourself get complacent then they’d take advantage of you. Dean had made you feel safe and somewhat normal today, like you were two kids just working on a ranch, not delinquents sent there to “shape up” but you’d let your guard slip just slightly and clearly Hector could see that and jumped at the chance to get what he wanted. Thank fuck you’d gotten away before he could really do anything, but now what were you supposed to do? You couldn’t very well go back inside and face Hector or Sonny. Sonny likely wouldn’t believe you, and you’d get sent back to your dad or thrown back in a cell for kneeing another kid in the face, even if he deserved it. Little prick was probably running his mouth right now about how you attacked him for no good reason. As panic started to set in and your heart rate picked up, you pressed your hand against the fresh cuts on your arm, causing a jolt of pain to rush through your body. Oddly enough, the pain grounded you a bit and you took a deep breath, pressing down harder on your arm and relishing the flood of endorphins.

“Y/N?” someone called and you tensed up, relaxing slightly when you saw Dean enter the barn, shining a flashlight through the old cars and machinery. When he saw you he grinned slightly and walked around the car, sliding in the passenger side and shutting the door behind him.

“Thought I’d find you out here.” You frowned.

“You did?” you asked and Dean nodded, running a hand over the dash almost reverently.

“I come out here a lot, especially when I need some time alone.” He shifted in his seat and looked at you kindly. “You okay?”

Playing dumb seemed your best bet at this point, maybe he didn’t know what had happened with Hector and you could brush it off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrugged but Dean didn’t seem convinced.

“Don’t bullshit me. Hector didn’t punch himself in the face. Guy was crying like a baby.”

That made you grin with a sick sense of pleasure and you knew Dean caught it. “I kneed him actually, more effective and you don’t come back with a bruised hand.”

Dean chuckled but it faded away quickly, and he fixed you with that brotherly concerned stare again. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.” You answered quickly—probably too quickly. “I didn’t give him the chance.”

“Did he touch you?”

“I—” The anger in Dean’s voice shocked you and truthfully scared you a little bit. What if he thought you were a slut or a tease? What if he blamed you for what Hector did? What if he tried something too? You didn’t think Dean was like that, but hell you’d been wrong before. “He just—nothing happened!”

“I’m gonna kill him.” Dean growled, and you looked at him in shock.

“What?” you blurted out.

“That son-of-a-bitch deserves more than a split tongue.” Dean said, and you just sat there in stunned silence. Dean took a few moments to calm down and then looked at you kindly again. “You sure you’re okay?”

Another nod. Another lie. You couldn’t very well tell him that Hector trying to feel you up was practically modest compared to what you’d been through, and at the hands of your own father no less. But Dean didn’t need to know those dirty secrets, no one did. They’d just judge you for it.

“You’re a tough chick, Y/N.” he said, ruffling your hair, making you grin and shove his hand off you.

“Lay off jerk!”

Dean laughed. “You remind me of my kid brother, Sam.”

“ _You’re_ a kid.” You pointed out.

“I’m seventeen, almost legal!”

You rolled your eyes. “Yet you’re the one bringing up Peter Pan and Wendy Dear.”

“Wendy  _Darling_.” He corrected you and you laughed.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Dean laughed. “My little bro tells me that too.” he paused and then opened the car door. “C’mere, I wanna show you something.”

Dean led you out of the barn and to the back, where there were a few more classic cars, one of which he approached and popped the hood open, smiling at you like he’d just discovered gold.

“This is my pride and joy out here.” He explained. “Sonny found her on the property and is letting me fix her up. She’s in pretty good condition for being out here however long, and the bones are all still really good, just needs a couple tune ups and some new parts, but I think I can salvage most of the parts from some of the other cars out here and with a new coat of paint she’ll be as good as new!”

You let him prattle on, personally knowing nothing about cars, but enjoying hearing him so excited nonetheless. As he talked your mood improved greatly and after a while he had you laughing and even helping him with some of the—albeit simple—repairs on the car, asking you to hand him various tools, tightening or loosening bolts, and other small things that made you feel useful and truthfully, you felt honored that he was allowing you to help, knowing by just watching him how much he enjoyed this and cared about this project.

After probably an hour or two Dean pulled back and wiped his face with a rag, tossing it to you and laughing when it caught you in the face, staining your forehead with grease.

“Watch it!” you laughed, raising your arm and wiping the grease and sweat from your forehead.

“What happened?” Dean asked, taking a swig from a water bottle and pointing to your arm when you frowned. “It looks like you’re bleeding. Did you get cut on the tools or something?”

Fear flooded your system and you gave him a haphazard shrug, knowing he was seeing the cuts on your arm, bleeding through the bandage from when you’d pushed against them earlier. When you were working, you’d unbuttoned the sleeves of your flannel, in a half-assed attempt to cool off, and it must’ve rolled up slightly.

“It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing. Here let me see.”

“Back off!” you snapped as he reached towards you, but all that did was make him more determined and he reached forward, holding your wrist tightly with one hand and pushing the sleeve of your flannel up with the other, revealing the bloody bandage.

“What the hell, Y/N?” Dean snapped, but you just pulled your arm away forcefully.

“Just leave it alone, Dean.”

“Who did that?” he demanded but you refused to answer, knowing that there was no good answer. “Y/N _who hurt you_?”

“No one!” getting angry and defensive was usually your go-to but there was an underlying shame as well, having some else know your dirty little secret—well, one of them at least.

Your father had seen the scars and cuts before, obviously, but he didn’t care. Especially since more often than not, he was the one ripping your clothes off and adding more cuts and bruises than the ones you gave yourself.

Realization crossed over Dean’s features and you saw his gaze soften slightly as he connected the dots. “Did…did _you_ do that to yourself?” he whispered, shocked.

He obviously knew that the answer was yes, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of saying it out loud. If you could pretend just for a little bit longer, you could get out of here with them none the wiser. Though Dean didn’t need you to confirm, you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction of knowing how weak you were, of seeing your scars and cuts. Luckily you were saved by someone calling your and Dean’s names.

“Thought I’d find you two out here.” you turned to see Sonny walking towards you, a big dopey golden retriever bounding after him. The dog came right to you, sniffing at your jeans and looking up at you with big, round eyes. You grinned down at her as she nuzzled into your hand before loping over to Dean, who immediately knelt on the ground and let her lick all over his face, laughing.

“How’s Bess comin’ along, D-Dawg?” Sonny asked Dean, nodding to the car you’d been working on—you tried not to laugh at Dean’s nickname.

While Dean prattled on about the car you took real stock of Sonny for the first time since you’d gotten here. He was a tall man, probably standing over six feet tall but with you being short yourself it was hard to tell. He had a handlebar mustache that oddly worked on him, with hair almost touching his shoulders, but he was far from frumpy. You could tell he was strong, and you took note of the scars on his knuckles—a fighter then. He stood with the kind of alertness you’d seen in cops and war vets, and you were sure if you looked at the chain that he wore around his neck you’d find dog tags. Despite his clear strength and authority, you oddly didn’t feel unsafe around him, and so far he’d done nothing to prove you should.

“Hey D-Dawg mind if I talk to Y/N for a minute?” Sonny asked and Dean’s gaze flickered to you before he nodded.

“C’mon, Gracie!” he called, and the dog chased after him as he made his way back to the house.

You and Sonny stood in silence for a few moments before he gestured to the cars. “You and Dean have a lot in common. He comes out here too when he’s upset.”

“I’m not upset.” You snapped.

“Hector’s lip is busted up pretty good. From what he told me I’m guessing it was well-deserved.” He said and you grinned. “I called his parole officer too, let him know the situation. You doing alright?”

“Just wanna go home.” You mumbled.

“You sure about that?” you appreciated that Sonny didn’t beat around the bush, even if it was royally annoying. “That’s fine, you don’t gotta tell me. I could use your help getting dinner ready though.”

Grateful for a change in subject, and something to keep your hands busy, you nodded and followed Sonny back towards the barn where you and Dean had fed chickens this morning. There was a large crate full of corn that had clearly just been taken off the stalks and Sonny sat down on an upturned crate and began shucking. Following his lead, you sat cross-legged on the ground and began shucking, tossing the husks into a bucket in between you. The two of you worked in silence for a while before either of you spoke.

“Found blood on your sheets this morning.” Sonny said, surprisingly nonchalant, but you just focused on the corn you were shucking and avoided eye contact. “If it’s a, uh…female problem I’m sure Ruth can help you—”

“It’s not.” You spat and Sonny’s eyebrows raised. _Shit_. It might have been a better idea to tell Sonny it was period blood or something so that he would leave it alone but now you were stuck trying to come up with an excuse.

“You wanna elaborate on that?” it was clear in his tone that he wasn’t really giving you an option, but you still sat there in silence for a minute, trying to come up with an excuse and fast. “Noticed you scratching at your arm last night,” to his credit, Sonny didn’t look at you, giving you enough privacy to control your features. “May have overheard some of you and Dean’s conversation when I walked up too.” he looked at you and chuckled at your look of shock. “I’m not a complete idiot, Y/N. Plus, you’re not the first kid to come through here that’s struggled with hurting themselves.”

“It was an accident.” You answered too abruptly, too panicked but Sonny didn’t seem angry at you. There was also a curious lack of pity in his eyes.

“Y/N I ain’t gonna make you talk to me, and I’m not gonna ask you to tell me anything you don’t want to. Everyone’s got their stories and their demons—and I’m guessing yours would send most running for the hills.” You averted your eyes and that seemed to be confirmation enough for him. “Just want you to know that I’m here if you ever do wanna talk. I’ve been around the block a few times and I may actually say something that could help. But regardless, you’re safe here for as long as you need, okay?”

His pause clearly meant he was waiting for an answer, so you looked up and met his gaze, nodding slightly. Sonny smiled kindly.

“You can trust Dean too, y’know.” He said offhand. “Boy’s wise for his age and I have a feeling his demons might match yours. Just know whatever you’re dealin’ with, you don’t gotta do it alone.”

He didn’t press the issue further, instead talking about the house, the farm, the animals, music, basically anything that wasn’t too heavy or personal and nothing that required you to answer too much. Which was good, seeing as how you were trapped in your own mind, attempting to make sense of the last day and a half, and the seemingly decent people you’d met—with the exception of Hector of course—and the idea that you somehow felt…okay here and what the fuck that meant.


End file.
